


The Ending of the Words

by morgiah



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: ALMSIVI, Chimer (Elder Scrolls), Dark Elves, Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Elder Scrolls Lore, House Hlaalu, House Indoril (Elder Scrolls), House Telvanni (Elder Scrolls), Morrowind (Elder Scrolls), Resdayn (Elder Scrolls), The Tribunal - Freeform, The Tribunal Temple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25837198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgiah/pseuds/morgiah
Summary: All of Morrowind seemed to be silent the day Vivec emerged from the Clockwork City with the bodies of his fellow Tribunes.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	The Ending of the Words

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here to yell at me for how this isn't possible in canon bc of some obscure lore I don't care :)  
> This is my personal headcanon of how Vivec reacted to the deaths of Almalexia and Sotha Sil, and what was done with their remains.

All of Morrowind seemed to be silent the day Vivec emerged from the Clockwork City with the bodies of his fellow Tribunes. 

The Living God walked in a dignified stride in front of the few Buoyant Armigers who had accompanied him. Lady Almalexia and Lord Sotha Sil draped lifeless over the arms of the two uncomfortable mer stationed behind Vivec. Holding the corpse of your deity was not ideal to the soldiers, but they had little choice but obey when Vivec told them to carry them. Crowds of nobles and peasants alike parted to allow the procession to pass through on their way to pyre where the Tribunes would be honorably cremated. Young children hid behind legs, while their mothers stared wide-eyed. Men looked to the ground with lumps in their throat as older, thoroughly religious women quietly wailed into the arms of their sons. 

The Dunmer were terrified. The Blight, though over, still weighed heavy on their souls. When the news that not one, but _two_ of their gods had perished, chaos ensued. The Great Houses, Indoril especially, panicked. What did this mean? House Dunmer culture was rooted in their faith, how would this affect politics? Day to day life? Would the citizens turn their back on the Temple? Morrowind would surely perish without the Tribunes protection and wisdom. 

Their Lord Vivec’s expression was unreadable as he took his god-siblings and placed them on the pyre. Deep inside him, he felt his supposedly lost mortality flare in anger at the sight of the Nerevarine solemnly standing with her head bowed. But his composure was kept as he turned to face the fearful crowd. His speech was swift and short, unlike the usual beguiling words his people expected from him. An uncomfortable grief had made itself home in him, now was not the time to use metaphors and a magical tongue to confuse and reassure his subjects. He allowed the Nerevarine to tell the story of the Tribunes' demise- how a powerful sorceress had murdered the Clockwork God and released his mechanisms into Almalexia’s beloved city to lure her in and drive a sword through her heart. Ignoring the people’s bewildered expressions( _how had one woman defeated two gods?_ ), Vivec sent a subtle nod of thanks to the Nerevarine for her deception, for he knew her words were fabricated without having been told. “ _Lady Almalexia and Lord Sotha Sil were once heroes, let them be remembered as such_ ,” the Hortator would later tell him. The irony of those words being spoken by Nerevar-reborn was not lost on him.

Vivec saw how his subjects looked towards him for guidance. The Nerevarine was their hero or legend, and her presence was of great significance, but Vivec was their God. He was meant to be their guidance in trying times, to lead them to the next great chapter of Morrowind’s story. He had been there through terrible wars and occupations. His sharp tongue blessed them with laughter and hope and his riddles gave them motivation to love and care for their homeland more than any race on Tamriel (even at the expense of others). Today, he offered them nothing.

The Living God was weary, and his weariness was continuing to grow into exhaustion. Divine power being drained out of you like a cosmic vacuum was not a pleasant nor an easy experience. His empire, once greater than the warriors of Yokuda, was dying. His Divine Brother and Sister (who he once called his friends, long ago) has fallen. Everything they’d built from the ashes of a troubled land had perished. 

And he’d known the day would come. He was a god, after all. He knew everything and nothing all at once. What he didn’t know was the grief that would follow. The aching sensation of a long forgotten feeling, deep in his body, squeezing his lungs and pounding on his stomach. What was he meant to do now? How could he console an entire province, keep an entire race stable when he can’t even predict his own reaction to an event he’d already foreseen? 

The Nerevarine followed him with a watchful eye as he retreated from the ceremony prematurely, dismissing the Armigers who attempted to follow him. The crowd of Dunmer hardly noticed his absence in their mourning. She felt what he was feeling, to an extent. Someone inside of her, someone she didn’t know but was a part of her, felt the same sadness; the same longing for a different time. A happier time. 

The Great Temple meant to house the remains of Mother Morrowind and Clockwork God took four months to build, from Rain’s Hand to Last Seed. Located in the heart of Necrom, it was a great temple of lava rock and stone, crafted by the finest materials Morrowind had to offer, guarded by the fiercest Dunmeri warriors. The magister’s of House Telvanni assisted in the construction, as the magic used to build this holy place could only be done by those adept in ancient Dunmeri practices, of course. House Indoril nobles bickered over schematics and design, and even House Hlaalu offered their finest craftsmen for the construction. All the while, Vivec stayed holed in his chambers for most of this time, only accepting the occasional pilgrim. He never dared visit the temporary temple the Tribune’s ashes were being held during the construction. Did he even dare visit the Great Temple after it’s construction?

He did. After a long while, of laying in piles of crumpled up parchment with failed poetry, he made the trek to Necrom to visit his friends. The temple was grandeur, far from his own humble beginnings. The inside was littered with candles and offerings of all sorts; flowers and fruit and clockwork gears and unlit incense. Large, intricate statues of the ALMSIVI reached the ceiling. In the center sat the ash pit of Almalexia, Mother Morrowind, the heart of the Dunmer. To the left, Sotha Sil, and to the right, at Vivec’s request, an empty ashpit, meant for him. 

“How sad of a sight this is, old friend,” Vivec spoke to Sotha Sil as if he were there, pouring a part of his bottle of flin in the ash and settling himself on the stone floor. “We’d spoken of this moment. What the other would have wanted of the temple. You, Ayem,” A memory of a smile ghosted across his face and he turned to Almalexia’s statue. “What a handful you are. You sent the Houses in circles trying their best to fulfill your wishes. But you deserve nothing less, my queen.” 

Silence, again. Such a quiet and cold room for them to rest in. Their souls were too bright for this. 

“We spoke of it often,” He continued. “However, we never considered that one, but not three, that two, but not all of us would go. What else am I to do now? How am I to look over our people without the other halves of me? I am unwhole.”

Vivec sighed. A sound that carried through the whole temple. A mouse in the corner scurried into its hide. 

“They still love us, they still follow our teachings, but how long will that last? Time changes culture and tradition quickly and you are not here to help me guide it,” He whispered the next part quietly. “How long will _I_ last?”

Somewhere, in a land unknown by anyone but herself, the Nerevarine woke with a start. An unbearable sadness settled through her and tears welled in her eyes. 

“There is nothing left for me in Morrowind, my dearest friends. I must leave.”

Vivec was standing now, slowly making his way to the temple door. His legs ached and his eyes were sunken. He was sickly. 

“Don’t be mistaken, this is not the end of us. We will not die out to history.”

The Nerevarine held her head in her hands, breathing harsh and fast. 

“The ending of the words is _still_ ALMSIVI.”


End file.
